


nightmares

by JackBarakitty



Category: All Time Low
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, LYR era, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBarakitty/pseuds/JackBarakitty
Summary: night·mareˈnītˌmer/nouna frightening or unpleasant dream





	nightmares

It was all dark, so black that Jack couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. The air was thick as well, further convincing Jack that the room around him was actual hot pitch. Tension surrounded the wet environment, making him cold but sweaty and entirely uncomfortable. He had absolutely no clue how he got here, or even where ‘here’ was. Cigarette smoke brushed his nose, irritating his bronchial tubes; or _was_ that cigarette smoke? There didn’t quite seem to be a place it was coming from, but it filled the room slowly. He remembered the time he’d tried one in his parents’ basement, and the smoke had flow through a vent to capture everyone upstairs.  Maybe that was it.

 

Little coughs sputtered out of his throat, chest rhythmically shaking and quickly getting faster in the stuttering of his lungs to match how much smoke enveloped his body. It kept gaining volume, as all gases, destroying the clean air that previously stood around him. A chuckle followed the last cough his chest could muster, black tar fixating on the outer lining of his lungs.

 

“I know your secret.” came a voice behind him, but it was still too dark to see. Why was it so damn dark in here? He knew that voice, though; he’d never heard it in this tone, but he’d come to enjoy the soft way it usually spoke to him. It was dark now, anger flowing through vocal cords like fire as the words were shot through the air.

 

Jack felt as though the sound waves were shooting him down, rolling through his body like a slap across the face. He hadn’t felt anything in months, but this was the thing that made him feel. He was feeling  _ everything _ , but mostly just pain. Pain worse than anything he’d felt before. He’d felt lots of physical pain, everywhere; but this was a type of pain he’d never felt in his life.

 

“You’re just a whore, Jacky, and you always will be,” the voice said, face coming close enough for Jack to smell the red wine on the man’s breath. It always was an inviting smell for Jack, the taste as well, but now it was like a punch in the gut. This man didn’t stay long, only a few minutes of just staring at a helpless Jack before he left. He couldn’t see but he felt the eyes on him, not pitying but just  _ there _ .

 

The switch of the light above head from on to off scared Jack, the loud  _ whoosh _ that the electricity being turned on making him flinch. An uncomfortable silence ate the room, the buzz from the bulb above him somehow making the lack of noise more apparent. Three stomps of heavy feet approached him, and Jack couldn’t make himself turn his body to see who was in here. 

 

A kick was felt in his side, on his hipbone; he knew the feel of the leather steel-toe boots too well, and what they usually meant for him. A large and calloused hand yanked at his hair, pulling some of it out of his sensitive skull as he was pulled to stand on his knees. The clank of metal on concrete made his heart speed up even more, pounding hard against his ribs; he genuinely wondered if the power behind the contractions could break one of his ribs. He didn’t have much time to contemplate before he was presented with a cock in front of his face. 

 

The man attached to it was sweaty, smelling of a meth lab and dirt. He never had great hygiene and that only made it harder for Jack. He did as he knew he was meant to and took the tip into his mouth, forcing tears not to move from his waterline; he’d be punished if he cried without being told to. The man moaned, low and deep like the growl of a pissed off animal, as he thrusted into Jack’s mouth carefully. He couldn’t believe he fantasised about someone doing that in his teenage years, he’d watch porn of some little twink getting their mouth fucked good and right without a single hesitation from the top. Though, those fantasies were all focused on one person — never the exact same one, but always someone he loved and trusted. He didn’t love or trust these people.

 

He didn’t want to gag, he tried to teach himself not to so he didn’t make anyone upset and end up punished but when the man pulled back for a break he vomited. It was mostly stomach acid due to their lack of feeding him anything that wasn’t dog food, even then it only happened every few days. 

 

“Face down, ass up, you fucking whore,” the man growled, shoving Jack harshly so his face was rested on the cool, dirty concrete. He hated this part, it was almost worse than the actual act itself. Waiting for someone to push hard into his tight hole, praying they liked it slow at first, already crying and shaking. 

 

A rough push into him brought out a strangled cry of pain, hips jutting forward in attempt to get away but strong hands held him there tightly. They kept up a fast, hard, gut-wrenching pace; Jack could feel the blood already going down the backs of his thighs. It was going to be hard to sleep that night, and hard to walk the next morning.

 

Eventually, the man hit his prostate and Jack screamed in pleasure. He still hated it, he still wished the man would just decide to be better and leave him alone, he still wanted to find a way to kill himself so he no longer had to endure this but the pleasure helped him forget. The constant abuse of the nerves and the feeling of blood rushing to his cock let him imagine it was someone who loved him above him, telling him he was beautiful instead of calling him degrading name and asking if he was okay every couple thrusts for the first bit.

 

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” the man mumbled, pushing harder against Jack’s prostate and sending him into a frenzy. He knew he was going to pass out soon, wake up with a mixture of blood and cum from both of them covering his body. He could just use his t-shirt to wipe off if he really needed it.

 

Instead of passing out, though, Jack woke up. He woke up in a bed, confused as to what happened with his nails digging hard into the hand of someone. They had a rose tattoo, and little things were being whispered into his ear. The man beside him was shaking him gently, sounding terrified as he pleaded for Jack to wake up. But he didn’t sound like this was new.

 

It took him ten minutes to register everything, to remember where he was and to realise Alex wasn’t here to hurt him. Even after that, he was still panicking. The dream had been too much for simply knowing that his husband wouldn’t let him get hurt to fix.

 

“Alex,” he whimpered, starting to sob into his shoulder. It broke Alex’s heart that he couldn’t help Jack, that no amount of therapy or medication or love would stop his memories from being too much to handle.

 

“It’s okay, my love, no one can hurt you here.” Alex promised, consoling him to the best of his abilities but sadly this extended far past his understanding. What was happening was complex and a kiss on the forehead just couldn’t help it, Alex knew that much. 

 

“It was just a nightmare,” he explained, kissing Jack’s lips softly. He didn’t get a kiss back, but that was okay; Jack couldn’t even think when he was like this, let alone kiss someone. 

 

Jack couldn’t focus, all he knew is that he felt like he was dying. Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad at this point. Dying is easy, dying is letting go and slipping into a void where there is no more pain or suffering. It’s a place where nothing will hurt you, where there is no one and everyone. Living is the really hard part; sometimes, things are made easier. Sometimes, you can put a stop to the things that want to hurt you.

  
But you'll still have the nightmares.


End file.
